Pandora Gets Vain (Pandora (Hardback)) (15 page)
The next instant, the face of Morpheus, God of Dreams, appeared before her.
“Hello again, Pandora.”
“Hi, Morpheus,” her mind answered.
“Quite a day for you.”
“Yep.”
“You haven’t eaten much of anything, you know.”
“I don’t care,” she said.
“You may wake up with a stomachache,” he persisted.
“That’s okay, I’m good. I’m just so tired.”
“Very well then, off you go,” he said, and Pandy felt him envelop her mind.
“Thank you,” she managed.
“My pleasure. Dream . . . of nothing.”
And she was gone.
7:16 p.m.
“Dear, precious child,” Hera said to herself. “Precious, darling, resourceful, intrepid, sensible, cunning, conniving, presumptuous, arrogant brat of a child!”
She pounded her large fist into a rose-colored silk pillow, sprawling on the divan in her spacious suite of rooms. Before her stood an elaborate, many-armed candelabra, a wax taper ablaze in each sconce. When lit, each flame showed a tiny portion of whatever view or scene Hera wished to see at any given moment. Right now, her beautiful but bulging eyeballs were trained on a garlic-shaped tent in the Egyptian desert, and the three sleeping girls inside.
“Just how clever do you really think you are, Pandora?” she mused. “Surely even you must realize that the only thing keeping me from dropping you headfirst off the slopes of Olympus or turning you into a grain of sand—or into my hairbrush, for that matter— is the fact that my husband would be slightly miffed at me.”
Hera knew (much) better; Zeus would stick her head-down in a frozen Norse lake if he even
suspected
she was interfering with Pandy’s quest. All her plans were riding on her ability to be subtle (not one of Hera’s strong suits). And time.
“Why oh why couldn’t you cooperate and simply have been skewered on a pole in that dreadful tomb? Ah, me,” she exhaled heavily. “Patience is all I need. And if I can just figure out how to cultivate that . . .”
She poked a large forefinger into one of the small flames in the candelabra showing Pandy’s tummy. On her cot, Pandy moaned in her sleep while dreaming about her stomach being attacked by enormous rodents.
“I have it!” came a loud whisper.
Demeter swept in, breathless, flushed, and rather giggly; her hair changing seasons very quickly in her excitement.
“Excellent!” said Hera, blowing out the candles. “Give it to me.”
From her robes, Demeter withdrew a small clay jar. Hera snatched it with one hand while she cleared her admiring table (as she called it) of all its pots, brushes, and creams with the other.
“Come,” she called, summoning two deep chairs from across the room. “This should be interesting.”
“Oh, I’m all peppery and speckled inside!” Demeter began, giving her hands a little shake. “You have no idea . . . Just a little
chat
with Zeus, you said? The moment I mentioned what a shame it was that since he’d been forced to reduce Pandora’s mother to ashes and he’s had no chief personal aide in his Athens temple since, he got all pouty. And that’s when, just as you predicted, Hera, he sort of wandered over to his table and gently touched that jar. So that’s when I knew which one she was in.”
“How did you distract him long enough to steal it?” asked Hera, regarding the jar from underneath her alternately arching brows.
“I looked out the window and told him I thought I saw that pretty Greek maiden, Atalanta, jogging on the beach. I turned around and he was gone.”
“Yes,” Hera sighed, “my husband likes girls who run. Of course, they’re usually running away from him.”
“He should be gone for a while. So . . .”
Demeter sat down and stared at Hera like she was about to see the earth created before her eyes.
With a wave, Hera removed the wax seal and lid from the jar. Turning it over, she spilled the little heap of ashes into her hand. With a giant breath she blew them toward her mirror. In a direct line they flew, passing through the leaded glass and into the identical room on the other side. The ashes swirled in the mirror image, spinning quickly at first, then slowly condensing and compacting themselves into the form of a statuesque and beautiful woman . . . albeit missing a right arm.
“Hera!” said Demeter.
“Oops,” Hera said. “Hang on, for my sake.” She picked up a few unblown ashes from her palm and threw them at the mirror. After swirling furiously for a few seconds they settled into Sybilline’s lovely right arm.
“Thank you. Hello? Excuse me,” came Sybilline’s small, tinny voice through the glass.
“All right, Pandora’s mother,” said Hera, settling herself in a chair. “What I basically need to know is this: what is it that really matters most to your daughter?”
“I’m sorry,” Sybilline looked around her and became a little frantic, “but I’m not quite sure where I am.”
Hera hung her head and gave an exasperated sigh.
“You can’t really blame her, Hera,” said Demeter softly. “She’s been ashes for over a month.”
“Wife of Prometheus,” said Hera, “I understand your confusion and I shall put your fears to rest.”
With another wave of Hera’s hand, Sybilline visibly relaxed. She stood placidly, gazing at the two goddesses with a small half smile on her face.
“Answer, do not ask. Do you understand?” asked Hera.
“Yes, great one.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” said Demeter. “You’re so good with people.”
“Thank you, I try. Now, mother of Pandora, tell me, what is it that matters most to your daughter?”
Sybilline stood still on the other side. Staring.
“You didn’t by accident make her deaf, did you?” asked Demeter.
“I don’t think so,” said Hera. “Mother of Pandora, what is it that your daughter values most highly?”
Suddenly, Sybilline thrust one hip ever so slightly forward and crossed her arms.
“I have no idea.”
“What?” said Hera.
“I’m just trying to think. She’s very curious, many things interest her. But something special? No. I don’t really know.”
“A mother not knowing what her daughter likes and loves? Her tastes? Her preferences?” said Demeter. “That’s not right. That’s just not right!”
“I’m stunned and, being the protectoress of mothers,” said Hera, “I should and would punish you . . . if this were anyone but Pandora we were talking about. But time is short. Come now, you can’t think of anything that she wants, needs, dotes upon, and so on?”
“She has two friends she’s always talking about,” replied Sybilline.
“Alcie and Iole, yes, we know,” said Hera.
“And there was a boy she was interested in,” Sybilline continued.
“Tiresias the Younger was turned into a girl when the box was opened, so he’s out of the picture,” said Hera.
“There is only one other thing I can think of. Actually, I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. The one thing Pandora truly loves is Dido,” said Sybilline.
“Dido?”
“Her dog,” said Sybilline.
Hera had a short, sharp intake of breath. Then, after a long pause, she exhaled very, very slowly, never for a moment taking her eyes off Sybilline.
She waved her hand one final time and a very surprised Sybilline watched as fragments of her body began whirling in the space around her, until she was nothing but a swirling circle of ashes. Hera sucked a large breath of air inward and the ashes flew out of the mirror image and back into the clay jar. Hera placed the lid on the jar herself and gazed at Demeter’s reflection in her looking glass.
Turning to her friend, Hera’s lips began spreading over her teeth at hideous, malevolent angles.
“Of course. It was there all the time. The girl loves her dog!”
7:00 p.m. (exactly . . . the next day)
“Humpf . . . Dido, stop!” In her sleep, Pandy swatted at something close to her ear. “Stop . . . um . . . big . . . thing . . . you’re tickling me!” Still foggy, Pandy opened her eyes and saw Dido sitting on his haunches a meter away, just staring at her.
“Stop it, ghost dog, stop kissing me. Uh . . . huh?” Pandy reached toward her ear and felt a tiny tongue, a small warm snout, and a big hunk of fur.
“Ahh!” she screamed, grabbing whatever it was and sending it hurtling across the tent. Dido watched the little missile arc overhead and padded off to the spot where it had landed with a thud.
Pandy bolted up too quickly, saw a zillion stars swirling before her eyes, and promptly fell back on the pallet.
“Great Artemis!” she moaned.
“How interesting you should mention her,” came a small, raspy voice close by. “I mean, of all the goddesses, I just find it fascinating that you would choose her . . . seeing as how she gave me to you, seeing as how the Huntress and I are so close. She and I.”
Dido stood directly in front of her, her wolfskin diary held loosely in his mouth. The diary gave a few low grunts and growls and Dido very gently shook the skin back and forth, causing much dust to fly into the air. Then he carefully placed it on the pallet next to Pandora.
The diary gave a small yelp. Dido yelped in response then settled himself back on the floor.
“Oh, forgive me, Pandora. I was just thanking your dog for dusting me off . . . after retrieving me from the dirt floor . . . in that filthy corner . . . where you threw me!”
“I’m sorry, Diary,” Pandy said, sincerely. “I didn’t know that was you.”
“Yes, well, someone or something had to wake you,” said the diary. “Your friends decided to let you sleep, but that strange girl who lives in this place poked you a few times when meals were being served. A lot of good that did. I have been listening to your stomach growl for many hours, so finally I had Dido place me on top of your head. Thanks be to Artemis that I am only slightly bruised for my trouble.”
“I’m sorry,” Pandy said again in earnest. Then, without warning, she found herself in a panic. She dropped to the floor and began pulling out her bags and pouches. “How long have I been asleep? What am I doing? What day is it? We can’t stay here! I have to get to Alexandria!”
“Pandora, cease!” said the diary. “You have been keeping company with Morpheus a single day. That is all.”
“But one day might make all the difference! Vanity is out there somewhere and—”
“And what can be done now? It is done. It is past,” said the diary.
“I know, but—”
“Would you cross the great desert tonight, on foot, risking, perhaps, everything by being rash and unthinking?” the diary continued. “Or would you look upon and listen to what is about you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Artemis, the Huntress, tells you that there are interesting forces at work in this place. You must be keen and receptive. Use that curiosity of yours. Hunt, Pandora. Perhaps you will discover a way to expedite your journey.”
“Expedite?”
“Speed up!”
“Oh!” said Pandy. “I will. I promise. Please tell Artemis.”
“She heard you.”
“Okay,” said Pandy. Looking about, she half expected to see Artemis floating in the air above her. Her gaze landed on her dog. “Has Dido been fed?”
“He’s fine. That incredibly large boy has taken good care of him.”
“Gods!” Pandy said, hearing her stomach growl. “I’m starving.”
The wolfskin’s large ears twitched toward the opening of the tent.
“Judging from the sound coming from thirty-seven and six-tenths paces due northeast, tonight’s feast is just now under way. I’d try to dress appropriately if I were you. And fix your hair.”
“Thanks for waking me,” Pandy said, donning her spare toga and repinning her hair combs.
“Fine . . . have fun. Don’t worry about me. I’m sure I’ll hear all about it—and the temple, and the dolphins, whatever you’ve been doing to keep yourself busy, et cetera—later. If you can spare the time to talk to me.”
“Of course. I’ll tell you everything,” Pandy said, kissing the little snout and carefully placing the skin back into her pouch.
“I think it would be quite nice if I could eat something,” came the diary’s muffled voice from under the pallet. “I never get to go anywhere!”
Smiling as she clasped her silver girdle around her waist, she left the tent.
She didn’t have to get her bearings by the fading sunset to know which way was due northeast. There was only one tent aglow with light, sound, and scent: the giant tangerine.
Making her way, all her senses were on alert to discover these “interesting forces” the diary had mentioned. She looked at everything, the tents, the animals, the crumbling temple, and the unending desert. She inhaled the twilight air, taking in deep breaths. She tried to listen more intently to every sound; to feel anything different in the air on her skin.